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User blog:Squibstress/Epithalamium - Chapter 33
Title: Epithalamium Author: Squibstress Rating: MA Genre: Drama, romance Warning/s: Explicit sexual situations; teacher-student relationship (of-age); language, violence Published: 23/05/2017 Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling. Chapter Thirty-Three "I'm not sure there is a 'right' in our situation. We simply have to muddle through as best we can." On a frigid Saturday afternoon in early February, Filius and Minerva gave a duelling demonstration, and it was every bit as exciting as Professor Meadowes had told Albus he hoped it would be. The two new professors went at one another with good-natured gusto, casting and parrying for a full nine minutes before Filius got something through. Albus was concerned when Minerva flew across the platform to land in a heap at the end, and the collected students gasped in shock, but she was up and her wand was back in her grasp in a matter of seconds. She ducked under the hex Filius fired at her—so close to hitting its mark that Albus could see the end of her plait lifted by its energy as she dodged—then she hit Filius with a spell that flipped him upside-down before assailing him with a Rictusempra that had him gasping for air as he tried to focus his energy. Filius managed to right himself despite the gales of laughter caused by the Tickling Charm, and the two continued to duel. Filius cast, sending a frightening-looking, ropy vine after Minerva. It caught her by the ankles, pulling her off her feet, and began to wind its way rapidly up her legs, forcing her to choose between expending her attention and energy on finding a counter-spell or blocking the Expelliarmus that was sure to come next. She took the latter route, and got off her Protego before she could be disarmed, adding a Jelly-Legs Jinx for good measure to keep Filius occupied for a few precious moments. Although the vines had worked their way up to her waist, her wand arm was still free, and Albus caught a glimpse of the familiar expression she had always worn when focussing her energy and intent on a difficult spell. She touched her wand to the tip of the snaking vine and cast. The vine seemed to open up and peel back upon itself, quickly unravelling its hold on her legs. It separated into four smaller strings, and when Minerva pointed her wand again, intoning quietly but intently, "Mutatio Ignis," these suddenly became small jets of flame, prompting Filius, who had been advancing on her, to back away and the audience to gasp in horror. Albus lifted a commanding hand to quiet the crowd, indicating his confidence that the Transfiguration mistress had no intention of roasting the Charms master in front of their eyes. They needn't have worried, as Albus could have told them; small though he was, Filius Flitwick was more than capable of defending himself. Filius pointed his wand and shot four jets of water at the flame-vines simultaneously, extinguishing them with a hiss and creating a thin veil of steam that momentarily hid him from Minerva's view. She quickly cast a blind Protego, but it flew wide of the mark, and Filius got a bit closer and shot another jet of water, which he directed fluidly down her wand arm in a show of his prodigious mastery of charm work. When it reached her wand, Filius shouted, "Glassiado!" and Minerva's hand and wand were immediately encased in a block of ice. She raised her arm, crying, "Finite Incantatem!" but the ice remained. Minerva looked at it in disbelief, and Albus could see her mind racing, trying to think of a counter-spell she could perform wandlessly, but the crucial seconds ticked by, and finally, Professor Meadowes called the bout in favour of Professor Flitwick, who held out his hand to Minerva to shake. When Minerva held up the frozen arm, the group gave a laugh. She looked annoyed for a fleeting second, then she laughed too, and everyone relaxed, including Albus, who realised he had been tense the entire time. Minerva said, "Do you think one of you gentlemen could help me with this, then?" indicating the ice. Filius lifted his wand, but Albus caught his arm, saying, "Allow me." He raised Minerva's frozen hand with his own, and instead of using his wand, he blew across it, casting a powerful Warming Charm with just his exhalation. Minerva's breath hitched, and when he heard the murmurs of the crowd, he knew he had made a misstep. The ice melted away immediately, however, and Minerva dried her wand on her robes and flexed her newly thawed hand several times, holding it up for the crowd to see that it was unharmed. Albus covered his indiscretion with a hearty laugh. "I'm sorry, my friends," he said. "After that impressive demonstration, I couldn't help showing off a bit myself. Please forgive me." Everyone applauded, and the four professors headed to Albus's private quarters for tea and biscuits at his invitation. "You two put on quite a show!" said a delighted Julian Meadowes when they were seated at the small table in Albus's sitting room. "I thought half the students were going to faint dead away when you went after Filius with those flames, Minerva." "Madam Soranus would have had my hide," said Minerva. "I hope you knew, Filius, that I never would have done it if I hadn't been confident you could handle anything I could throw at you." "Thank you for the compliment. I wasn't worried about the flames, other than being afraid I was about to lose the bout!" Flitwick said. "It was rather a brilliant comeback, Filius," said Albus. "The steam was ingenious, and then the ease with which you directed the water—it was a stunningly elegant bit of charm work." Flitwick looked embarrassed for a moment, then said, "Ah, well ... I hope it wasn't too unpleasant to have your wand hand frozen, Minerva. I'm afraid I do get carried away at times." "Not at all. It's quite as good as new," said Minerva, "although I will admit, it was a very strange sensation. I simply couldn't think of a wandless spell to counter it fast enough. I certainly wasn't expecting an Icing Charm. I can't even remember learning it." "No," said Albus. "It's fallen out of use since the invention of simpler Cooling Charms." Flitwick smiled at the Headmaster, saying, "As the proverb says, old age and treachery will overcome youth and skill. It would appear that there are advantages to our advancing years, my friend." Albus chuckled and said, "Indeed." Julian Meadowes said, "Unpredictability is an essential trait in a good duellist. And I'm very glad you demonstrated that to the children. It's easy to become complacent. I thank you both for being willing to give up part of your Saturday afternoon to put on the demonstration. I think it will be a real inspiration to the students." Minerva said, "I thoroughly enjoyed it. It was an honour to be on the piste with Filius." "My dear girl, the honour was mine," said Filius. "I will never forget the extraordinary duel you had with that young man back in 'forty-four. The odd outcome aside, it was tremendously exciting to see two such talented duellists battle it out." "Odd outcome?" asked Meadowes. "Yes," said Albus, "Minerva and her opponent got locked together for a few moments. It was a chance occurrence." He glanced at Minerva momentarily to find her eyes were on him as well, and they quickly looked away from one another. "How strange," said Meadowes. "What happened?" Albus said, "One of our referees—your predecessor, as a matter of fact—had to intervene to end the spell. We decided to call a tie. To the best of my knowledge, it was the only one in the history of the Inter-House Duelling Championship." "Extraordinary! How did they come to be locked together? It's a very rare occurrence, I thought." "It isn't entirely clear," said Albus. Filius quickly chimed in. "Rare, yes, but it happens from time to time. Anyway, Minerva, I was delighted to find that you've been keeping up with your duelling skills." Albus realised with gratitude that his friend was trying to change the subject. "Just a little sparring," Minerva said. "I'm surprised you can find anyone to keep up," Meadowes said. "I used to be an Auror," Minerva explained, "so I have a few friends that are very sharp duellists. I'm sure they could quite wipe the piste with me if they were really trying." "I doubt that," said Albus, and she rewarded him with a brief smile. "An Auror, eh?" said Meadowes. "I'm surprised you didn't go in for my position, then." "No. I'd be quite lost teaching some of the theoretical aspects of Defence. The emphasis in Auror training is all practical, at least until you start getting into some of the specialty units." "I'm afraid I'm all theory. Oh, I can defend myself well enough, of course, and I hope I'm correct in saying I do all right by the students in that respect," Meaddowes said with a glance at Albus, "but I will admit, it's theory that really interests me—the philosophy behind the Dark Arts. What makes a spell Dark, and all that. My research focused on investigating whether Dark Magic could be properly harnessed and made to work positive effects." "Your research?" asked Minerva, intrigued. "Yes. I spent some time in America and the Caribbean studying traditional Vodou rituals." "Really?" said Filius. "I've always thought Vodou was mostly a Muggle attempt to practice magic—a made-up form of witchcraft. It's an area I admit I've never studied, though, so I am woefully uninformed on the subject." "Most of us are," said Meadowes. "But there's some truth to what you say. Magical cultures that practice Vodou are much more fluid in their definitions of 'magic', and their world view doesn't tend to divide people neatly into categories of 'magical' and 'non-magical', so there is some confusion, naturally. It's fascinating to study, and because enforcement of the International Statute is much laxer on some of the islands, there's a level of interaction between Vodouisants and the non-magical population that just doesn't exist in Europe or Asia, or in other parts of the Americas. "Vodouisants also don't divide practices and spells between 'Dark' and 'Light' as we do. They don't believe in magic that is inherently 'Dark'. That was the primary focus of my research." "I can certainly see why Albus hired you. He was always interested in those kinds of questions himself," said Minerva, glancing at Albus. "Are you continuing your research here at Hogwarts?" Meadowes paused for a moment before answering, "No." "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry." "Oh, not at all. I'd like to pick it up again, but when my son was born, my wife was understandably anxious for me to curtail my more hazardous work. This job came along at just the right time, and I'm grateful to Albus for convincing Armando to give it to me." "Hogwarts is very lucky to have you," said Albus. Meadowes gave a self-conscious laugh. "Well, now that I've bored you all silly with my droning on, I'm afraid I need to be off. Anton's turning fifteen today, and I promised Natasha I would be there well before dinner to help them celebrate." "We won't keep you, then," said Albus, rising. "Wish the lad many happy returns, Julian." "I'll do that, Albus, thanks," said Meadowes. "And thank you again," he said, turning to Filius and Minerva, "for a wonderful demonstration and a most enjoyable afternoon." When he had gone, Minerva said, "I don't recall meeting an Anton Meadowes. Is he a student here?" "No," said Albus. "Anton is a Squib. He is being educated at a fine Muggle school in Aberdeen." "I'm sorry to hear it." "I understand why you say that, Minerva, but don't ever let Julian hear you say it." "Why," she asked, taken aback. "He's very proud of his son. Rightly so. He takes great exception to any implication that Anton is somehow inferior simply because he is different from other children of magical families. I must agree with him there. I've met Anton on a few occasions, and he's a most remarkable boy." "I see," said Minerva, slightly chastened. "I meant no offence." Albus's tone grew light again, and he placed a reassuring hand on her arm. "I know you didn't, my dear. I just don't want you to inadvertently give offence should you meet Julian's family." He couldn't quite bring himself to withdraw the hand until he caught Filius's glance out of the corner of his eye. "I appreciate that, Albus," she said. Filius stood. "As Julian said, a most enjoyable afternoon, but I think I'll take my leave now. I'm afraid you wore me out, Minerva. I'm not as young as I once was, and I think I'd like a little nap before dinner. If you'll excuse me?" When the door had shut behind Filius, Albus had a moment of irrational panic, thinking Minerva was about to go too. "More tea, my dear?" he asked quickly. He saw her hesitate, but was relieve when she said, "Yes, thank you, Albus." They took their seats again, and he served the tea. "I must confess, Minerva, that I was nervous this afternoon." "About the duel? Why?" "I was a little—only a little, mind you—afraid you might be hurt. I didn't think the 'sparring' you had mentioned would have kept you prepared to face as formidable an opponent as Filius." "Well, Amelia and Alastor are fairly formidable sparring partners." "Alastor Moody?" he asked before he could check himself. "Yes. We've been sparring the past few weekends. We're old friends," she said, and he was fairly certain she was avoiding his eyes. "Yes, I remember." He tried to ignore the knot that seemed to be forming in his belly. An awkward gap of silence opened between them, and he had to turn his face away. When he finally looked at her again, she was looking back at him, a slightly pained expression on her face. "I hate this," she said quietly. He felt himself blanch. "What?" "This discomfort ... the awkwardness between us. Everything either of us says seems to bring up memories, and I'm constantly afraid of hurting you inadvertently." "Minerva—" "I know that you know Alastor and I were once lovers, and I don't know how or whether to tell you that we aren't any longer. I'm afraid that by telling you, it will seem I'm ... I don't know ... hinting at something, but by not telling you, I feel like I'm hiding something from you. I don't know what's right." Albus took her hands in his. "I'm not sure there is a 'right' in our situation. We simply have to muddle through as best we can." She gave him a weak smile, and he released her hands. He said, "I hope that you will be comfortable telling me things. Even if you think they might be uncomfortable for me to hear. Things may be awkward between us, but I think ... I hope ... that will pass with time." "I didn't realise how hard this would be," she said. "Nor did I." "When I accepted the post—when I applied—I thought I was over what happened between us. That I could become comfortable seeing you, working with you, as friends. But I've come to recognise that it isn't that simple." "No," he agreed. "Not that simple." She hesitated, then asked, "Do you think we can be friends, Albus?" "I hope so. I'd still like to try. I enjoy being with you, Minerva. Talking with you, sharing things with you. If that comes at the price of a little awkwardness, a little pain, so be it." "I'd like to try too." "I'm very glad to hear it." His tone brightened then, and he said, "Perhaps we could begin with a game of chess?" "Chess," she said, an eyebrow raised. "Yes. You still play, do you not?" "Not for some time. But I think I could remember how." "Excellent! I play with Filius from time to time, but frankly, he's not much of a challenge. He's become quite predictable." "Then I will be a disappointment, I'm sure." "I doubt that, my dear," he said, going to a side table and withdrawing a small chess set from a drawer. "In any event, it will be nice to have more than one opponent. Keeps one on one's toes." "I shall have to rope Amelia into playing, then." "Amelia, your sparring partner?" he asked. "Yes, Amelia Bones." "Ah, Miss Bones. I remember her. A rather brilliant student, much like yourself." "Yes, but a few years ahead of me, and a Ravenclaw. She and I were in Auror training together." "Oh, yes. She was injured when you were, I believe," he said. Minerva looked at him with surprise. "You knew about my injury?" "Yes." "But you were away, looking for Grindelwald then, weren't you?" "Yes. I found out about it after I returned," he said. "I asked after you—obliquely. I was distressed that you had been injured." "Oh. I thought ..." "What?" "Oh, it isn't important," she said. "Shall we start?" she asked, indicating the chess board. He had beaten her within half an hour, so they played again, and this time, she lasted forty-five minutes before surrendering her queen to him. ~oOo~ Albus lay awake that night, turning over the day's events in his mind. The afternoon's duel had been exciting. Too exciting, really, in Albus's estimation. It had aroused layers of emotions he didn't especially want to confront at the moment. There had been fear—that Minerva might be injured or humiliated—and then the old, familiar pride in her accomplishments. And longing. Seeing her in duelling costume, casting and parrying, her hair in a long plait, just as she had been on the day of the Inter-House Duelling Championship so many years ago, had evoked in him a disturbing mixture of apprehension and desire. His usually obedient mind stubbornly kept returning to that day and the worry and anger that had accompanied his realisation that Riddle had violated Minerva's memories. Then came, in spite of his efforts to forestall them, the memories of exactly what Riddle had discovered with his Legilimency. He closed his eyes. April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. I am the dull root, Albus thought, or the dead land. But April is not the cruellest month. And she is not the spring rain. It had been one of the poems he had inscribed in part in the charmed poetry book for her, in the bleak, dark days during which he was contemplating, but not completing, a break with her and dreading the coming confrontation with Gellert, and it returned to him now, thinking over their chess games that afternoon. And we shall play a game of chess, Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door ... HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME ... This last line had haunted him, leaping suddenly into his consciousness at odd moments, just as in the poem itself, torturing him with its aptness. He had urged her to read the entire poem, and she had been befuddled by the thing, laughing at its disjointed rhythms and unabashed mixture of classical and common allusions, frowning at its coarseness in places. He wondered if she still had the journal and what she would do if he made an entry now. He recognised with shock that his mind was beginning to be filled with Minerva McGonagall, just as it had been twelve years previously. What should he do? She felt something too, he was sure of it. That didn't mean, however, that she actually wanted to pursue more than friendship with him at this point. It was memory, most likely. Memory and desire. A potent combination, Albus thought, and a dangerous one. They were colleagues now, and they had made a few tentative steps toward real friendship. And what had been true twelve years ago was only slightly less so now. He was not under threat of immediate attack, but he still had enemies, many of them. And he was still not whole or free; he had still not atoned for the actions of his past, could never atone for them, and they would continue to lade his every step, as Aberforth had so helpfully reminded him—a fearful shadow-Albus, always behind him, over his shoulder, waiting to pounce and destroy. ← Back to Chapter 32 On to Chapter 34→ Category:Chapters of Epithalamium